2019 Winners

2019 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest Winners

Michelle Brock and Hazel Hall, Judges

Thank you to Michelle Brock and Hazel
Hall for their time and hard work in choosing this year’s winners. They did an
amazing job of culling down the 595 entries to just nine winners. We thank them
for their effort and we thank everyone who entered for making this year’s
contest a success! We had submissions from seven countries: Australia, Canada,
Japan, the Netherlands, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and the United States
of America.

—Susan
Burch, TSA Contest Coordinator

Judges’ Report
We are honored to have served as judges for this year’s Sanford Goldstein
International Tanka Award. With almost 600 entries, and many outstanding poems,
it was a challenging but immensely rewarding task. Guided by the processes of
past judges, we began by reading each tanka deeply and taking notes. It took
some time and much discussion before we each completed draft lists of tanka
that we wanted to consider more thoroughly as potential short-listed poems.
From these, common preferences began emerging. We each chose a list of thirty
tanka based on attributes such as poetic lyricism, dreaming room, pivot or
turning point, subject matter, and originality. When we explored the poems further,
we reduced this list to eleven preferences common to both of us. By this time
it was clear which were winning poems, but in what order? We discussed each
tanka by email, adding insights to our individual comments. Aiming for a final
shortlist of nine poems, reluctantly we had to leave two of our favorites
behind. Although they were very fine poems, the others shone more brightly.
Finally, we returned to the entire list to ensure that every tanka had been
examined carefully and honored. We needed to be fully satisfied with the
choices that we had made. It’s clear to us that all
the tanka we received were significant to the poets who composed them, some in
ways we could never know. We have learned so much from each poet, yet there are
always images that remain in only the poet’s heart. Most of the tanka we’ve
selected explore grief and loss and we share our vulnerabilities in our poetry.
This makes judging exciting, difficult, and incredibly humbling. Thanks to
Susan Burch and the Tanka Society of America for entrusting this year’s
selections to us, thanks to all the poets who submitted tanka, and
congratulations to the winners!

—Michelle Brock and Hazel Hall

First
Place ($100)
muddy foxhole
and camouflaged soldiers
buried by a bomb
sunlight visits
the unmarked grave

Dorothy
McLaughlinSomerset, New Jersey

The brutality of war is eloquently captured in this standout tanka that begins
with the metaphor of another hunted creature—the fox. Foxes are killers and
therefore despised. We do not know who the soldiers are or when the tragedy
happened, only that they are in a small tunnel or dugout. We are reminded of
the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam, but this tragedy could have happened at any time
in any place. The soldiers are “camouflaged” for safety but the mud has given
them a different kind of covering. Have they only just been found? Or will they
never be discovered? There are no technical errors jarring this smoothly
flowing lament. In a tightly constructed poem the first and final lines offer a
perfect précis of what is happening. Time is skillfully explored. At first the
action seems to be happening in the present until the pivot line, “buried by a
bomb,” its force all the more surprising by the use of alliteration. Reading
this line aloud requires the lips to release those sounds like tiny explosions.
The bomb is both death weapon and grave digger. It drives the tanka from the
present back to the past and then into the eternal. Sunlight brings peace after
the conflict but it only “visits” the grave, a reminder that war is always with
us all. Like sunlight, the poet also shines a light on this tragedy. In
five short lines this poem sums up the devastation of war and the consequences
of a lesson we have yet to learn. When
will our leaders see the light?

Second
Place ($50)
broken oaks
waiting patiently to die
for someone
to count their rings
and tell their stories

Michael
H. LesterLos Angeles, California

The poem begins with what might be the sawn-off trunks and felled trees lying
on the ground or the trees themselves dying from poison or environmental
damage. Powerful line breaks punctuate this tanka, unfolding a salient reminder
of how the natural world is being plundered. Oaks can live for more than three
hundred years, some twice as long. These oaks are already “broken” but not yet
dead. As if sentient beings, they are “waiting patiently to die.” Recent
research has shown how plants and trees in forests can feel and communicate
with each other like single organisms through their root systems. We have also
learned that continual felling of trees endangers wildlife and leaves the
environment more vulnerable to climate change. Much has been written about the
oak tree in prose, poetry, and song. In this tanka, the life-circles on the
trunks in line four suggest that the history, mythology, and arts connected
with oaks are also being placed at risk. A traditional symbol of strength, wisdom
and endurance, the oak tree has been named the national tree for some fifteen
countries. What is the poet suggesting about these qualities of life that
sustain us? The dreaming room within this poem creates another layer of
meaning. The oaks could also be seen as a metaphor for elderly residents in a
nursing home waiting patiently for the release that only death can bring. The
counting of rings could symbolize the years of a life and the telling of
stories could represent the writing of eulogies. From the first line with its wonderful assonance, the poem goes
from strength to strength, commanding attention.

Third
Place ($25)
an accident
whilst cleaning his rifle?
on baked earth
an unbearable softness
of flannel flowers

David
TerelinckBiggera Waters, Australia

The use of a question in the first two lines provides us with enough
information to suspect that this man has taken his own life. Turning
faultlessly in the third line, the poem moves from baked earth to the flannel
flowers, still growing there. The wealth of images arising in the final two
lines contrasts with the previous harshness of the first three lines. In
Australia, water holes are drying up and rivers are dying. The suicide rate
among farmers is almost double that of the general male population. Even the
flannel flowers, soft but hardy Australian wildflowers, must use all resources
to survive. Due to their strength, resilience, and adaptability, flannel
flowers are a symbol used to promote mental health. They also bring to mind the serviceable
checked flannelette shirts worn by farmers, known in Australia as “flannies.”
But this tanka is not simply restricted to the Australian environment. Drought
has wreaked havoc on farming communities in many countries and the tragedy that
unfolds is symbolic of a world that is fast becoming unsustainable. A superbly
crafted tanka, delicately alliterated with perfect line breaks. It says so much
without stating the obvious.

Honorable
Mentions (not ranked)
last slant
of the sinking sun
my dying father
gathers his Silver Queen corn,
shivering in the warm breeze

Pris
CampbellLake Worth, Florida

The use of sibilants brings a strange mystery to this superbly crafted poem.
Its phrasing is masterful, with the story emerging line by line; each line
break carefully considered. The third line breaks the poem into two
interconnected haiku. First, the sinking sun’s last “slant” suggests a bridge
into the afterworld for the dying man. It captures that brilliant moment that
comes before dark when the light is intensified and the whole cornfield is lit
up. In the second part, the father shivers while gathering his prized corn,
desiring nothing to be wasted before his departure. Silver Queen corn is a
late-harvest, pale variety valued for its sweetness. His shiver suggests the
tremor of death, but also determination. Yet the breeze is warm. Death can be a
friendly release. Placed together these two small poems become a beautiful
celebration of life.

Arakawa River
angry and overflowing
from the storm
still, we float paper lanterns
to honor the drowned spirits

Michael
H. LesterLos Angeles, California

In this poem, the key word is “honor.” Lives have been lost after a terrible
storm. Were they taken trying to save others? Were they members of the poet’s
family? Or were they unknown, yet honored as all lives are in Japanese
tradition? We are left wondering. As part of the Arakawa River is allegedly
engineered to protect the community from repeated flooding, there’s a sense of
irony in this poem. The poet has used multisyllable words as line breaks,
leaving only the pivot’s starkness. This emphasizes the tanka’s flow so that we
feel the water and its powerful current sweeping the lanterns away into the
afterworld. The overflowing river is also a powerful metaphor for the
outpouring of tears. This carefully crafted tanka includes strong phrasing and
line breaks and the effective use of assonance and alliteration. An
undercurrent of grief and anger demonstrates the power and paradox of
tradition. While the river is angry and overflowing, there is great risk in
remembering the drowned spirits.

a cry
stretches and breaks,
all that remains,
this canyon’s river flow
and silent stones

Louis
OsofskySacramento, California

Rich in ambiguity, this poem might be an eloquent comment on human destruction
of the environment. Does the cry represent the lament of a dying river system
or the end of a human life? Perhaps the canyon is being destroyed and all that
remains is a cry. Is this poem set in Ontario, where development has crept to
the edge of Niagara Falls? Is it the cry of a bird soaring above the flow and
silent stones? Or has somebody taken their life? Whatever the cry is, it “stretches
and breaks,” emphasizing the tension of the moment. The cry is visceral and
almost visual. The reader is left wondering. A chilling tanka full of dreaming
room.

the night bus arrives
my daughter disappears
behind the swish of doors
a vanishing act
I’m never prepared for

Sara
EllisonSebastopol, California

This masterful poem on separation has powerful word choices and excellent
phrasing. For some it will bring to mind a parent’s reluctance to part with a
child who is growing up and claiming her own life. For others it will pivot
into the sinister as bus doors “swish” shut. The poet achieves this by turning
the fourth line’s almost theatrical setting to expose the parent’s anxiety. In
doing so, our own unease is exposed. We are all glad to know when our children
have reached their destinations safely. The longing and perhaps unease embedded
in this tanka lingers after reading. Throughout the poem the repetitive “s”
sounds create movement. This is a social poem that needs to be heard in these
times when young people “disappear” more often than before. It reminds us about
the ever-changing nature of relationships and the importance of treasuring the
moments we have with our children.

in my dreams
the black dog and I romp
through the bluebells—
there is no rain
there is no road

Kathy
Lippard CobbBradenton, Florida

Most readers know what it feels like to lose a pet. We’re also reminded of the
carelessness of drivers and danger on busy roads. Bluebells are safe. They take
us back to fields and the black dog’s puppyhood while suggesting the passing of
a loved canine friend. The poet’s use of parallelism in the last two lines is
reminiscent of separate lanes on a highway where traffic comes and goes. It
also suggests the poet’s profound feeling of loss. The strong imagery in this poem
is created not only by what exists, but also by what is missing. There is
another interpretation where the black dog might represent depression.Perhaps the poet dreams of being liberated from the
path of sadness and despair. Do the “blues” become “bluebells” and does the
black dog become a playful puppy? This
intriguing, multilayered poem is rich in dreaming room.

sudden chill
a dragonfly skip jives
with its reflection . . .
when did you stop
finding us amazing

Marion
ClarkeWarrenpoint, Northern
Ireland

This poem’s reference to the dragonfly’s reflection segues beautifully into the
poet’s internal reflection and sudden realization evoked by the image. The
question is rhetorical and indicative of a relationship that is no longer
revered and cherished. Is the poem about an adult relationship that’s lost its
spark or a parent-child relationship? Perhaps the tanka is exploring what
happens when children are not nourished with encouragement. We all want to “amaze”
our parents. Often we don’t and spend our lives seeking some gesture of
affection and recognition of our achievements. Sometimes parents forget to
acknowledge children when they become adults. In other families one child
receives all the attention. The dragonfly’s skip jive is almost like the
heartbeat of a child waiting for those positive words. Relationships are
fragile and this is an important, topical poem.